


The New Millennium Survival Guide

by MythicallySnappy



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: College, Disaster Preparation, Fluff and Smut, M/M, New Year's Eve, Y2K
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 13:30:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9125770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MythicallySnappy/pseuds/MythicallySnappy
Summary: You can’t use the microwave when the power grid fails and there’s nothing but darkness across the Greater United States, but Rhett’s got his Coleman stove, a full tank of propane, and two rolls of aluminum foil just in case.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another entry for the [Rhink Holiday Ficathon 2k16](https://rhinkficathons.tumblr.com)! I used the 'Y2K' prompt from this week.
> 
> Thanks, as always, to my best girls [Amanda](http://archiveofourown.org/users/amanderjean/pseuds/amanderjean) & [Lauren](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pringlesaremydivision/pseuds/pringlesaremydivision) for giving this a look-over and just generally being perfectly sweet and salty, like that caramel and cheddar popcorn. ;D
> 
>   
>   
> [img]

     Rhett’s always prepared.

     He’s got two cases of bottled water and seven cans of beans. Four cans of ravioli. Twelve packs of ramen. The beef won’t keep in the freezer for long but he thinks he and Link could probably eat two packs of stroganoff in the first few days. You can’t use the microwave when the power grid fails and there’s nothing but darkness across the Greater United States, but he’s got his Coleman stove, a full tank of propane, and two rolls of aluminum foil just in case. Link’s afraid of the dark, so he’s got four C batteries for his Mag-Lite and probably enough candles to heat the living room for a little while if they keep the doors closed. And they’ll need some entertainment in the interim, while they’re waiting for the government to reconfigure all those supercomputers to the year two thousand, so he’s got three cases of beer and a forty of whiskey. Just in case.

     He’s kicking himself for not getting a generator, even a small one, but he’s in his last year of college and even though he’s got his loan and his parents are always happy to help him out if strings get tight, he’s not sure he could justify dropping three hundred bucks in one fell swoop. So instead he’s ripped every blanket from every bed in their apartment, folded each of them as neatly as possible and stacked them in one corner of the living room.

     The boom box has new batteries and he’s got the antenna pulled all the way up and tuned to an AM news station so that they’ll be the first in the know if the army’s got to come in with provisions. And he’s got a spare carton of pellets for his BB gun if they’ve got to deal with raiders. Just in case.

     Link laughs when he walks through the door of 3000C. Their living room has been converted into a post-apocalyptic bunker, with Rhett at the center of it.  
     “What’s all this, dude?” Link laughs. He unzips his jacket and kicks off his shoes.  
     “How much gas d’you have?” Rhett asks. His brow is lowered and his tone is pressing.  
     “Wha— _what?_ ”  
     “In your _truck,_ man,” Rhett says, not quite frustrated, but urgent. “How much gas?”

     Link furrows his brow and scratches at his temple.  
     “Uh, I dunno man? I filled up yesterday, I think,” he sputters. Rhett’s face softens immediately. He pulls a can of Pabst from a cooler full of ice next to the coffee table, pops the tab, and hands it to Link. “Why d’you wanna know?” Link asks.  
     “You got a bigger tank than I do,” Rhett says nonchalantly, opening up a beer for himself. “And we might need to drive to DC if things go bad here.”  
     “Why… why do we need to— oh. _Oh._ You’re goin’ on about that Y2K thing again, ain’t you?”  
     “It’s a legitimate concern, Link.”  
     “No, Rhett, it ain’t. Nothin’s gonna happen. It’s gonna be”— He cuts himself off with a small smile and a shrug. “Y’know what? Cool. I’m glad you’re ready.”  
     “You’ll be real glad when you’re beggin’ me for a sip of water and a spoonful of stroganoff.”  
     “You know it, buddyroll.”

     The apartment is unusually quiet with Tim and Gregg still back at home. Classes are due to start up again after the weekend and Link had convinced Rhett to get back to their apartment a bit early to make sure the place was tidy and so they’d have enough time to hit the campus book store before the lineups got too unmanageable. Link gives a patient grin when he looks at the state of their living room— it’ll take more than a couple hours to pull the place back together now.

     The pile of empty cans on the coffee table grows bigger and the sky grows darker. Rhett’s generous; happy to drink and get Link drunk, but it doesn’t stop him from ticking off each can from his mental list of inventory.

     By quarter to midnight, they’re both giddy, joking and laughing and taking very frequent bathroom breaks. Rhett’s pressed up against Link on their yellow velour couch, his shoulder against Link’s and their knees knocking. He likes it when Link’s close— he can feel the vibration of his cackling laughter through the springs of the couch and he can feel the warmth of his skin through his flannel. But when Rhett eyes the time, his smile drops and he thinks about Link’s warm skin some more— how they’ll need to zip two sleeping bags together and huddle for warmth under a pile of blankets when the building’s heat fails and the ambient temperature in their apartment hovers right around freezing every night. He thinks about it, and he realizes that he doesn’t mind, not one bit. It’s hard for him to think of many people he’d rather share a sleeping bag with more than Link.

     “You— you wanna go on the roof— and watch the fireworks?” Link asks between hiccups. Rhett pauses to consider for a moment and agrees. They take their time pulling on jackets and shoes, slightly off-kilter and uncoordinated.

     The apartment complex is only four floors, so they take the back stairwell and climb the two flights onto the roof, propping the door open with a small plank of wood that’s been stashed away against the molding.

     The night air is crisp and the sky is clear and dark. The stars twinkle over campus and the rest of Raleigh behind it. Link’s got a blanket thrown over his shoulders, like an ancient king looking out over his empire. He sits down on an electrical box and looks up at Rhett expectantly.  
     “Well?” he asks, extending out an arm. Rhett smiles and sits down next to Link, pulling the blanket over his shoulder. Rhett looks ahead and lets out a deep breath.

     “So you really think it’s all gonna shut down?” Link asks, his gaze dancing over the illuminated buildings on the horizon.  
     “I’m not really sure,” Rhett says with a hum. “But… but it could.” He feels Link’s arm slink between them, the back of his hand slipping next to his own. He gulps hard and feels a chill run down his spine like someone’s dropped an ice cube down the back of his shirt.  
     “Yeah,” Link says, his voice barely above a whisper. “It could.”  
     “How much longer?” Rhett asks. Link looks at the watch on his wrist.  
     “11:58. Soon.”

     If all the computers crash at once, there’ll be mayhem in the streets. No light, no power, and the water won’t be any good to drink. Rhett’s got a hundred bucks in his wallet, but he’s not sure how long paper money would be used as currency anyway, considering the economy will probably completely collapse within days. Planes will fly aimlessly without air traffic control and the streets will be lawless without surveillance or stoplights or street lamps. Rhett’s a bit nervous— he’s nervous but _excited._ He know’s he’s ready— he’s prepared. He’s got enough supplies for he and Link to last over a week in their apartment, and after that… well, after that, they’ll have to mobilize. But Link’s got gas, and Rhett’s got an atlas, and the two of them will make it to safety, wherever that might be.

     “Thirty seconds,” Link whispers. That chill is running down Rhett’s spine again and he feels Link scoot closer to him. He can almost hear the quiet buzz of excitement in the city around him. He can see faces pressed up against windows in the distance and it’s almost like he can hear the parties in the apartments below them turn the music down to a low hush.

     This is it. The moment of truth.

     “Fifteen seconds,” Link says, looking at his watch. Rhett’s heart beats wildly in his chest. Fifteen seconds, and his life— Link’s too— could change in an instant. “Ten, nine…” Link begins the countdown, and Rhett can feel Link’s hand shift, and suddenly his chilly fingers are weaving in between his own. “Eight, seven, six…” Rhett squeezes. He feels Link squeeze back, and he knows, no matter what happens, Link will be there right along with him. “Five, four…” He sees Link crane his neck toward him out of the corner of his eye, and he sees something in Link’s face that he can’t quite describe. Hope? Fear? Exhilaration? A combination of all three? Or something different entirely? “Three, two, one.”

     He holds his breath, waiting for the streets to go dark. But they don’t. The fireworks start popping off around them, smuggled in from the quick drive to the South Carolina border. Rhett usually loves fireworks, but he feels the breath he was holding escape him and his shoulders slump. He couldn’t care less about fireworks. The lights are still on; the electrical box underneath them is still whirring. Traffic lights still flashing, airplanes still flying.

     To say he’s disappointed is putting it mildly.

     Link’s hand slips out of Rhett’s and he throws a comforting arm over his shoulder. Rhett bows his head and stares at his feet.  
     “So,” Link says with a little jostle. Rhett can tell he’s trying to be reassuring. “ _The year two thousand, huh?_ ”  
     “ _The year two thousand,_ ” Rhett mutters back.  
     “That’s never gonna sound right, is it?” Link asks. Rhett laughs a little.

~

     Back inside 3000C, Rhett rubs his hands together to warm them. He falls into the couch before digging into his cooler to grab another Pabst. He slams the lid closed a little too hard and pops the tab, slurping the foam that rushes to escape the opening, eyes drifting in and out of focus on the floor ahead of him. Wasted time, wasted money. All of it an elaborate scam. All of it, _all of it,_ for nothing. He sighs.

     He’s lost in thought and feeling sorry for himself until the lights snap off and hears the low _bzzewww_ sound of the power cutting out.  
     “No— no way! What?!” he yelps, jumping to his feet. He squints around in the darkness, kicking himself for not having his flashlight closer on hand. When he finds it, he presses the button and the small living room is illuminated by a narrow beam of light. He flicks the light frantically around the room until he settles on Link, head cocked and an asymmetrical smile donning his face in front of the open electrical breaker. He lets out a bellowing laugh and points the Mag-Lite at the ceiling. “What’re you doin’ that for?” he asks.  
     “I thought we’d have our own Y2K,” Link laughs. “Y’know, since we’re all ready for it.” He slowly approaches Rhett and lays both hands on his shoulders, gently guiding him down onto the couch. Link plops down next to him, his skinny thigh pressed up tight next to Rhett’s. Rhett can smell the booze on his breath but he’s grateful that Link’s here, and with the lights off, all his preparation hasn’t gone _completely_ to waste. The flashlight rolls to the side of the couch, light partially obscured by a pillow. Link laughs again and he’s looking up at Rhett, big mouth wide and smiling. He looks great in this lighting, Rhett decides. He looks great, and he loves him— for _everything—_ and he can’t think of anyone else who’d indulge him quite like this. So he kisses him.

     It catches Link by surprise, he can tell, because he jumps a little when their lips touch, their teeth clashing against each other a bit. But Link warms up to it real fast, his tongue lightning quick to lap between Rhett’s lips and into his mouth. They’re both laughing, he realizes; chuckling after each in-breath because it’s funny, them kissing like this, but there’s something about it that runs much deeper.

     There’s something on Link’s lips that tastes like _want;_ like _need._ Like he’s been waiting for Rhett to kiss him all along. And when Rhett’s hand slips under the hem of Link’s cotton tee, sliding into the soft, smooth dip of his waist, Link moans into his mouth and Rhett can feel a surge of electricity course beneath his fingertips. Link’s wrists wrap around Rhett’s neck, his fingers running through Rhett’s hair and down the neck of his flannel. They aren’t laughing anymore. Rhett pulls Link’s shirt off and tosses it over the back of the couch. He presses him against the backrest, tiny hums and ohms escaping Link’s throat all the while. Rhett’s hands roam over Link’s chest; it’s smooth and his nipples are sharp and as hard as ice. Link laughs a little when Rhett thumbs them, pulling away from Rhett’s lips for just a moment, an embarrassed blush creeping in from his temples.  
     “I’m kinda cold,” he says.

     Rhett leaps up. He’s ready for this. There’s no way either of them are gonna be cold tonight, especially Link, not since Rhett’s spent all this time getting ready. He tears apart the pile of blankets, laying a few out flat on the carpeted floor like an insulating mattress. He holds one sleeping bag up with his teeth as he zips the two together, long arms flailing as he manipulates the fabric into one big sack. Link sits on the couch with his knees folded up against his bare chest, and his arms wrapped around his knees as he watches Rhett’s every move with a small, intense smile. Rhett fluffs a couple pillows and lays out the super-sized sleeping bag and makes a gesture toward their doomsday bed. Link’s teeth chatter as he slips in between the layers.  
     “You, uh— you gonna get in?” he asks.

     Rhett doesn’t need to be asked twice. But he figures he can add to the ambience, just a little, and lights three candles on the coffee table before sitting down on the floor. The room is aglow in golden light as Rhett slides his feet in beside Link, flames flickering in his bright blue eyes as Rhett sinks in. Link’s cold fingers slip under Rhett’s shirt and he pulls until they’re both laughing, the buttoned flannel catching inside-out under his chin and around the cuffs at his elbows. Rhett breathes shallowly, waiting for Link to free him, but release doesn’t come. Instead, he feels Link’s cold hands slide down his chest to his stomach, his touch hesitant but curious. He hears Link shift next to him until he feels a pair of lips on his sternum, gentle and chaste. The lips move upward, into the hollow of his throat and down one collarbone and then back up the sensitive slope of his neck. Rhett’s head spins, trapped in a plaid sensory-deprivation chamber with nothing but the the feeling of Link’s mouth on his skin to focus on. Link’s lips on his neck. Link’s hand on his hip. He had briefly considered a hostage situation, if the going got really tough, but he never considered anything quite like this. He lets out a low groan. Link responds by popping the buttons around Rhett’s face open, sliding the fabric to the sides so they can kiss again, voracious— all tongues and teeth. Hungry.

     Rhett’s forearms are still caught up in his shirt, restrained above his head as Link’s hand trails down his stomach, a single, cold finger tracing the border of his waistband. Rhett shudders, his incisors coming down around Link’s fat lower lip.  
     “What you gonna do, Link?” Rhett asks with a cocked eyebrow once he’s pulled away. He’s not in much of a position to do the teasing, but he does anyway. Link looks caught off guard, blushing and unsure of himself.  
     “I dunno,” Link says, a hint of cheek beginning to creep into his voice. “I was thinking about doing this”— he pauses to slowly grind an open palm across Rhett’s groin. “Or maybe this”— he says, popping open the button on Rhett’s jeans and pulling down the zipper of his fly. He nibbles on Rhett’s earlobe, hot breath making him squirm. He slides his hand inside Rhett’s pants, grasping his rapidly stiffening cock through his boxers. “What you got to say about that, brother?”

     Rhett’s throat is dry as a survival package of dehydrated fruit, but he manages a gulp. Link nibbles on the sensitive patch of flesh below his ear and begins to stroke him, firm but slow. When Rhett can’t manage to mutter a response except for a scratchy moan, Link laughs haughtily in his ear.  
     “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

     As Link works him in his hand, Rhett’s eyes flutter closed and a sheen of sweat forms across his exposed skin. He feels Link shift beside him, and he can feel the hard bulge in Link’s jeans pressing against his hip. Link groans as he begins to rock his hips, the friction rough and hot between them. Rhett’s fingers above his head are starting to go numb, the prickling of paresthesia travelling down his digits. He wants to touch Link so badly, his soft skin and prickly jaw, and the hard projection rubbing into his side. And Rhett knows, he just _knows,_ that if he was a hostage in any other situation, he’d do anything, _anything_ to get to Link. And he wouldn’t let something like a flannel hold him back. So he makes a break for it, twisting and contorting his arms until the plaid fabric slips away from his skin and he rolls up onto his elbow, propping himself up over Link.

     Link looks disappointed that his game has ended, but that’s just until Rhett digs his hand under his waistband, furiously trying to play catch-up. Link pumps Rhett with one hand, the other working at his own jeans, trying to kick them off his wiry legs. Once Link’s pants get bunched down at the foot of their sleeping bag, Rhett rolls on top of Link, feeling his legs spread and wrap tightly around his hips. He kisses him hard, rough and bruising, and grinds himself down against Link.

     “Oh, gosh, Rhett,” Link groans, his pretty features bunched tightly into the center of his face. “Mm, yeah,” he growls. “Do it again.” Link’s already done quite a bit to indulge Rhett tonight, so he’s happy to return the favor. He feels their cocks brush up against each other and he can’t hold back the gasp that filters through his lips. But their boxer shorts are rough and two layers of fabric between them feel a lot more like stiff canvas than fine cotton.

     Link seems to feel it too, because his hands are gripped tight around Rhett’s hips and his thumbs dip under the elastic waistband experimentally. Rhett’s eyes go wide and he dives into Link’s neck with a growl, mouthing on the taut tendons and pulsating arteries. His hands find Link’s hips and he rubs circles into his skin as he continues to grind down against him. Rhett’s teasing at what he wants, but it’s a leap of faith that he’s not sure if he’s ready to take. It could change everything between he and Link, if what they’ve already done tonight hasn’t already. But Link’s chest is heaving underneath his own and those curious thumbs are getting curiouser, inching his boxers down his hips. Hell, if Link’s willing to take the jump, then he is too.

     He thought he’d prepared for everything, but nothing could prepare Rhett for the sensation of his boxers sliding down over his ass and Link’s hand coming down to grip the base of his bare cock. He almost loses it then and there, but Link’s tongue thrashing against his own tells him to cool it. Breathe, McLaughlin. Link’s hand slides up, his hold firm and intoxicating. He thumbs through the moisture at the tip and Rhett lets out a shuddering moan. He’s got to even the playing field. He’s got to.

     Rhett unwraps one of Link’s legs from around his hips and tugs his boxers off one leg, leaving them hanging limply off the other. Link’s cock is long and thick and hot, and it’s heavy and smooth in his hand. Link arches his back up and off the floor when Rhett tugs on him, and the expletives that tumble from his kiss-plumped lips send a surge of electricity through Rhett.  
     “ _Shit,_ Rhett. _Fuck,_ ” Link whines. Rhett cuts him off with his mouth, because he _can’t_ listen to Link talk like that, he just can’t. Link’s fingernails bite into his shoulder and his teeth bite into his lower lip. He’s sucking in shaky gulps of air like it’s a labor, like he’s close. Rhett can’t think of anything more he’d rather see than Link fall apart underneath him so he doubles down, upping the amperage of his wrist and grinding, grinding, grinding hard into Link’s quivering frame. He’s determined to get Link there, but Link’s giving him a run for his money. It’s a race to push the other over the finish line, and Rhett’s nothing if not competitive.

     He grits his teeth in an effort to hold himself back and when Link’s upper lip raises in a blissful grimace, exposing his pointed incisors, Rhett knows he’s won. Link lets out a strangled moan and Rhett can feel his warm, sticky come splatter up his stomach and he finally lets himself let go.

     Rhett collapses next to Link, pressing lazy kisses into his lips, against his temple— anywhere his mouth can reach. They’re both covered in a tacky layer of sweat and breathing hard. Link pulls his boxers off his leg and wipes himself down before cleaning Rhett up, too. He lets out a hum of contentment and rests his head on Rhett’s shoulder and lets his eyes drift closed. Rhett stares at the ceiling, trying to recall every moment between now and midnight, not wanting to forget any of them.

     “Rhett?” Link asks quietly.  
     “Hmm?”  
     “I’m hungry.”  
     “Oh yeah?” Rhett laughs, his eyes lighting up at the thought of firing up his Coleman stove. “Beans or ramen?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Your comments, kudos, likes, and reblogs are always sure to juice up my generator, I appreciate them so much. Ya'll are great. ♥
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @ratchetrhink!


End file.
